9: The Feral Ones
by Masquerade
Summary: Far from the Cathedral was another colony of survivors, and the story of one who after becoming outcasted by his own family is their only salvation against the machines... and the dead. OC story. AU.


9: The Feral Ones

Prologues

#1 – End of Humans

Regret. Hindsight. Failure. These were just a few of the words that ran through his head as he stared at the lifeless thing in his hands. It was just made by the inventor he brought with him into the shelter, stitched with burlap and string, tiny camera lenses for eyes, iron hands and feet. At first, the man thought what kind of hair brained idea this was to end the war, but looking over the plans stolen from the Scientist's lab, he could see that there was more to this tiny frame than met the eye. His thoughts were interrupted when the door to the cramped study opened.

"Chancellor?" a voice called, prompting the man to turn around.

"Eugenie, did he say what exactly these little machines do?" He held up the prototype in his hand, and the inventor adjusted his glasses before shaking his head.

"He wasn't very clear. He was addled by lack of sleep and nutrition, and he wasn't exactly paying attention to me. Just writing in his journal or sewing another prototype." The inventor looked around the small study space in confusion. "Wh-where are the others?"

The chancellor moved a bookend on the desk aside, showing the hiding spot where seven smaller dolls were huddled together and hiding. The inventor smiled, heading for the area and giving the dolls coaxing words.

"It's alright. Everything will be alright. We have just one more to make, and you can go find the others."

The dolls didn't respond, and only one was looking at the inventor before his eyes wavered to the chancellor nearby. The inventor looked to his leader in concern.

"Are you certain you wish to do this, excellency? According to his calculations, this last one will take the last of your soul, and you'll..."

"I won't die." The chancellor insisted. "They aren't me in personality, but in their own way they are me. My soul is being carried in their tiny bodies. I will be alive, as them." He looked to the dolls again, seeing the first one he created was draped in a fancy doily to try and hide herself. "They are my means of survival." For a brief second, he thought of the Scientist who drew out the plans for his own vessels. The Chancellor didn't want to admit it, but the Scientist truly was a genius to be able to make such tiny wonders possible.

The inventor nodded, picking up the alchemy book. "So, shall we get started, sir? Or did you want to say goodbye to the others?"

"There's no point in saying goodbye." The chancellor insisted. "Everyone here will have their own vessels. They, too, will survive this. All their skills will be necessary in the coming days."

"...I understand." the inventor nodded, then opened the book to the appropriate page. "Well, then, let's begin."

* * *

Brave, young Timothy then gave the news in the face-pages of the newspapers: the Chancellor was dead.

He couldn't be more wrong.

#2 – Discovery of the Garden

The silence was always unnerving. The rare times the wind would whistle by eased him as he pulled his cart behind him. The cart had stopped squeaking after he ran it through an oil puddle near a crashed car, and at first he was grateful. But now the silence was getting to him, the soft patting of his wood feet in the dusty dirt and the occasional nervous gulp of uncertainty were the only sounds he could naturally make.

2 tried to calm himself by humming a little tune, keeping an eye out around the dead and debris ridden world about him. So far, he found some interesting items he could take home and make something out of. He even found an old doll with its voice box still intact; it was nice to have spares lying around just in case. But even taking inventory of the materials and treasures he found in his head did little to ease his worrying mind. After a moment, he stopped humming and looked down at his trudging feet, sadly.

He hadn't lost hope. Not at all. He was just sad that 1 had.

When the elder lifted his head up, he noticed he nearly walked into a stone wall. He stopped in the shadow of the wall to take a break from pulling the cart and admire the masonry a moment. It was dark, so he took a match from the cart and struck it against the bottom of his foot to light it, and then the wick of the candle in his hat. There wasn't a whole lot to see at first, the wall was very tall, even for usual human standards, and covered in dead, overgrown vines. 2 decided to explore, walking along the wall to see if there was anything more to see or gather. He soon came across a large crack in the wall, and peeked through it to look inside the property. He saw what looked like a blank courtyard, and across the way on the other side was another break in the wall similar to this one. 2 finally managed a smile as he ventured through the crack to get a better look.

To his right was the chained shut iron gate, the bars also tied tight with many wires as if to keep something from slipping inside. There wasn't much else to see to his right. But to his left... the sight made him freeze and he felt cold inside.

He should have seen the once magnificent manor sitting in the middle of the property. He should have seen the many dead flowers and trees that would have made up a splendid garden. He should have seen the long shut-off rock fountain that would have trickled water into a circular pool below. Instead, he saw a very chilling sight strewn from one end of the wall to the other, across many lines, above and before him.

Bodies. Bodies of dolls similar to him, all hung from their wrists like laundry on the line. All of them lifeless, unmoving... dead.

"No..." 2 gasped out. He walked towards the nearest one he could see, it was wearing a dress, maybe female. He only managed two steps before falling on his knees and covering his eyes from the sight. What was this place? Who were these people? Who would treat the dead like this? In his fear, he peeked from his fingers, looking over the bodies once more.

Were 3, 4, and 7 hanging somewhere in this nightmare? Would he find himself hanging here someday?

Trying to push the thoughts from he mind, he struggled to his feet and felt the best thing to do now was flee from this place and turn around, go the other way. He made his way as quickly as he could back through the crack and stopped once he reached his cart, leaning against it to catch his breath and keep himself upright. His hand reached up and cranked the small lever to snuff out the candle on his hat, and he started to cry. He had never seen such a frightening scene in his life.

Once he calmed himself down, he started to tug the cart in the other direction. He didn't dare look behind him. Fortunate for him, because someone was watching him from the top of the wall.

#3 – Pictures from the North Wall

7 lifted her foot then ran the match head against it, instantly sparking a flame to life, then transferring it to the nearby candle in the center of the room. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated a small part of the front room, enough light to see the others sitting around it. 2 was smiling a bit in anticipation, 6 looking over his shoulder nervously. Everyone was gathered, some of them not by their will. 1 crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in boredom.

"Must you make a production out of this?" he groaned, rubbing at one knee that was already sore from the act of sitting down on the wooden floor. 2 turned his head to the fellow elder and smiled brightly.

"Oh, let her have her fun, 1." he encouraged. "7 tells the best ghost stories." 1 could only snort back at 2.

"There is work to be done. There are better ways to utilize our time."

"Everyone's tired from work today." 7 explained, waving the match out in the air to extinguish the flame. "Time to take a break and do something fun." The only female of the group smiled widely. Ghost stories were one of the few things she was able to enjoy with the others.

"Fine." 1 relented, waving a hand dismissively before crossing his arms, displaying his usual stubborn manner. "Just get this over with." 7 then made sure she had the other's attention before turning to the group.

"Two days ago, I was out..."

"I KEEP TELLING YOU NOT TO GO OUTSIDE!" 1 thundered immediately. 2 quickly put his hands on 1's shoulders to calm him as 7 glared and crossed her arms impatiently.

"Now, now, 1." 2 calmed. "It's just a story. Let her tell it." 1 snorted and quieted so 7 could continue. The female shot 1 a warning glance before doing so.

"I was outside two days ago, on patrol when I stumbled across a camera scout. It was slumped over, dead, but I couldn't find any wounds on it. It was covered in ash and had dents, but was completely intact. No other machines got at it, and its power cells were still fully charged."

"So, you're saying it was ghosts?" 1 interrupted, which got another warning look from 7. 1 pretended not to notice. "Otherwise, this wouldn't be a ghost story, now would it?"

"Are you going to let me finish or not?" 7 demanded.

"Hurry it up, then." 1 insisted back, narrowing his eyes. "There is work to be done."

"Fine." 7 muttered, turning to 3 and 4. "Well, I took the film out of the camera and asked the twins to develop it. 3? 4? Wanna show them?"

Both tiny dolls shook their heads frantically, already scarred by what they saw. 7 made a sympathetic face and put her hands on their shoulders. "The others need to see this." 3 and 4 looked to each other and rapidly flashed their eyes to consult their thoughts, then looked back to 7 to nod simultaneously It had to be done. 4 moved closer to the wall and let a bright light project from his eyes, showing a black and white image on the wall like a movie camera. 3 moved his brother's right arm up and down, changing the picture as if cycling through slides.

The first picture was of the northern wall of the city, part of it torn down by the war machines of old.

The second was of a settlement that could be seen just past the wall, with a wooden town sign reading "Welcome to Diamondrough" in white paint. It looked like a small town with many one story houses and one road to connect them.

The third was of the main road of Diamondrough, littered with human bodies who choked from the gas. Men, women and children.

The fourth picture was the same as the third.

The fifth picture looked the same, but one nearby body of a man looked a bit different. His hand was resting idly on the ground, but now it was pressed firmly into the ground as if the body was raising itself up. 1 caught the detail easily, and blinked a few times, puzzled. That just couldn't be possible, it was dead.

The sixth picture proved him wrong. The bodies were getting up, eyes white after being rolled back in death, mouths gaped open in silent screams. All this despite being dead.

The seventh showed the upright and walking bodies heading to the defenseless camera scout, arms outstretched for it.

The eighth picture was obscured, covered in many human hands. It was more than 6 could take. He screamed, clinging to 2. 2, rather unnerved himself from the images, looked up to 6 and clutched his arm tightly in support. 5 covered his mouth and tried to hide behind 1, who was trying to look unimpressed by the images.

The ninth picture was of another part of the city, ruins and rubble all around, and no human bodies. The zombie-like apparitions were gone.

The tenth, eleventh and twelfth pictures were of the same image.

The thirteenth looked the same, but in several places were small shadows among the rubble. The shadows had a head, body, arms and legs similar to a human figure, but they were too small to be cast by any of those and no bodies were to be seen in the picture. It was as if the shadows were their own entities observing the camera.

The picture show ended as the images cycled back to the first two, lingering on the wooden town sign before 4 had to stop projecting the images and crumpled to the ground in both scarring fear and fatigue. 3 hugged his brother tightly, supporting his bravery.

"I say..." 2 gasped, not too sure what to make of what he saw.

"So there's walking dead out there too?" 5 panicked.

"Of course not." 1 shook his head. "As 7 said, this is a ghost story. Ghost stories are meant to scare us. And even if the pictures were real, it is more incentive to not go outside. It's still too dangerous to venture out and risk leading destructive forces to us."

7 was quiet, giving 1 a serious look. 2 caught it, but decided not to say anything as 8 helped 1 up.

"Well," 1 started to propose, stretching his arms a bit before putting his weight on his staff, "as I have been stating these last few minutes, there is work to be done. 2, 5, come along." He started to walk away, 8 following close behind. 5 got up after them obediently and 6 decided to hang to 5's arm as he joined them. 2 lingered a moment, looking at 3 and 4, still hugging on the ground, before looking to the unmoving 7.

"...this wasn't about telling a ghost story, was it?" he asked the warrior gently.

"This ghost story was real." 7 nodded. "I wanted to show everyone what I found, just to show what I meant when I said there's more than machines out there."

"I see." 2 nodded, then got up and went to 3 and 4's side to comfort them, mussing the top of their hoods lovingly. "That was very brave of you boys. 7 won't do that to you again." The twins looked up at 2 and trapped him with a hug from both sides, making the elder chuckle. "You're welcome." 7 couldn't help but smile, and looked to the lit candle.

"Alright, how about some make-believe ghost stories?" she decided. 2 chuckled again.

"A fine idea." he approved. "Since you had your turn, I'll go next." He moved 3 and 4 along side him to retake his place. "Once there was a young girl who wore a green ribbon around her neck..."


End file.
